Dragged Down
by PineappleApproves
Summary: Throughout his travels, Geralt has found himself in the company of many fascinating strangers. As he passes through an unknown little village, he meets another - a witcher hailing from the guild of Bear. Settling at a table over two tankards, the witcher tells Geralt of his most memorable contract. His worst contract. [Complete]
1. The Bear Witcher

There was a fault in putting too much weight in first impressions, Geralt knew. At the same time, there was nothing more to the little village than what could be read from the moment he laid eyes on it. A handful of buildings that sagged like tired bodies, and a broken wagon that sat abandoned by the road leading to the settlement. Still, he spurred Roach on. Even in an unknown little place like this, he would be able to find something. If not a contract to fuel his coin purse, then a tavern or inn to lessen its weight.

As he passed the dead wagon, he gave it a brief glance. Tall grass poked through between the brittle spokes and missing planks. The thing hadn't seen a different patch of ground in years.

A faded signpost greeted him. The piece of wood might have been able to tell him the name of the village, but it was nigh impossible to glean any sort of distinct marking from its sun-bleached surface.

"Not the worst place we've been to," Geralt remarked in a low voice to Roach. The mare flicked an ear. Tapping his heels against her side, he continued down the dusty path. A crack and a hollow thud behind him told him that the sign had fallen off of its post. "Charming," he mused to himself.

There was no gate. Only a crooked line of fencing separated the homely village from the rest of the world. They passed through the shadows of a few buildings. By then, they had gained an extra companion: a stray dog that followed curiously at Roach's heels. Little by little, the village came to life as Geralt caught glimpses of the other inhabitants. A woman hung damp laundry over a line that ran next to her home. A merchant shifted his wares out of the sun and into the shade his little tarp provided. A pair of meagerly dressed guards patrolled past, eyeing Geralt with their hands hooked onto their belts. A little boy climbed a bone-dry tree to fetch his ball while a small group of his friends waited underneath. Perhaps this place wasn't as derelict as it first portrayed. The stray dog that had tailed them wandered over to the children.

The inn wasn't difficult to spot; it was the largest building there. By the entrance of the inn was a bulletin board, its surface dotted with small scraps of paper. Geralt dismounted and headed over to the board. His eyes scanned the papers quickly. Announcements, old event notices… nothing of interest. There were no requests. No mention of monsters or 'Witcher needed.' All though maybe there once had been postings like that. Geralt caught sight of empty nails with bits of paper fiber stuck to them.

"Another one!" he heard the hushed voice comment. It came from a little girl standing a short distance away. As Geralt met eyes with her, she continued, "See? He's them amber eyes too!" The young man holding her hand, likely her brother, shushed her and began pulling her away. He cast one last worried glance over his shoulder before they disappeared behind a building.

Geralt looked to the inn. Another witcher? That explained the barren board. He couldn't help but feel intrigued. Crossing paths with another was quite a rare event.

Upon entering the inn, a poignant, bitter scent hit him. It came from one of the corners of the place, a secluded pocket of darkness where the sunlight through the windows could not hit. That was probably where the witcher was, judging from the other patrons. They were seated far from that corner. Upon hearing the door, a few curious faces peered at him. Quickly, their expressions fell as realization dawned on them. They looked away, but not before casting quick glances to the dark corner.

He made his way to the corner. Drawing closer, the solitary figure became clearer. Indeed, it was another witcher. The two swords on his back were the most obvious hint. As Geralt took a seat across from the man, he spied the medallion nestled between the man's collarbones. It was that of a roaring beast; intricate detail focused on the teeth inside the short snout, the round ears, and the beady eyes.

"Not seen many from the School of Bear," Geralt remarked, first to break the silence. The other man regarded him wordlessly, calmly blowing another plume of bitter smoke through his mouth. As Geralt waited for a response, he studied the strange appearance of this other witcher.

His black hair was shaved, save for the top half of his head. The rest was tied back in a long ponytail, several bands bunching the hair into segments. The locks of hair that fell in front of his ears were each strung with long beads of the same dark grey color as the piercings at the tops of his ears. A black beard covered his jawline and chin. Age had done little to his face, but Geralt could tell that this man was much older than he.

The Bear witcher raised a hand, bringing his black pipe to his lips. His leather gauntlet had a small knife strapped to it. Black gloves covered his hand up to his fingertips. A strip of pointed metal covered his knuckles, an accessory to add a little more meaning to his fists. Well, Bear did have a reputation for brutishness, or so Geralt heard. That notion was furthered by the two swords strapped to him, their bear-head pommels indicating Bear craftsmanship. They were both broadswords, designed to be wielded with two hands. Though judging by the look of this man, he'd probably be able to handle them single-handed like one of Geralt's greatswords.

The witcher exhaled the smoke slowly. Then he spoke. "So the great Geralt of Rivia graces me with his presence." His voice was deep and gruff, like it was hardly used. There was the slightest hint of a suppressed Skelligan accent.

"You know of me?"

"I know of much. Don't feel special."

A man approached their table. The innkeeper. He seemed nervous. "A tankard or warm plate for you sirs?" he inquired, mainly to Geralt.

"Go," the Bear witcher ordered harshly. The innkeeper jumped.

"O-o-of c-course, right aw-w-way sirs." His voice faded as he scampered away. Geralt turned back with raised eyebrows to his companion, who was taking another inhale on his pipe.

"You helped these humble little village with its monster problems and they still avoid you like a disease. I can see why now."

"I'm not here to make friends," the witcher replied bluntly.

"Folk already treat witchers bad enough without you giving them a reason to."

As the man took another drag, the embers in the pipe's claw-shaped bowl lit up. The dim orange light illuminated his face, his burning eyes. After a few seconds, it became apparent he wasn't going to entertain Geralt's last statement with any response.

Another topic, then. "Got a name?"

"Get your entertainment elsewhere. If you're looking for a job, then I suggest you talk with one of them." The witcher jerked his head towards the townsfolk sitting on the opposite end of the room.

"I'm not asking for a job. I'm asking for your name." Geralt's voice dropped its mild, polite tone.

There was a pause. "Kozin," the witcher answered, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke. "What do you want, Wolf?"

"It's been a while since I've met another," Geralt answered. "And I imagine it's the same for you. Thought I'd stop by. Share a few drinks, swap a few anecdotes. But it seems I've run short on luck and find myself with some boorish, smoke-spewing ass."

Kozin let out a throaty huff. Geralt couldn't tell if it had been a laugh or an irritated grunt. "I remember when I used to be like you. It's been a long time." He placed the pipe between his lips, and then continued, "Then I learned of the world. The way it is: filled with fools. I'm getting tired." Kozin tilted his pipe to inspect the chamber. He procured a pinch of crumpled leaves from a pouch on his belt and sprinkled it into the chamber. With his other hand, he made a small motion that Geralt recognized. A small flame erupted from the bowl of the pipe, which quickly fizzled down. Left behind were the smoldering leaves.

Geralt had seen many a pessimistic witcher. But that was how they usually were when they started, when they realized how much the world needed them and hated them at the same time. Time and experience, he found, gave them the momentum they needed to accept their role. "You will find that no matter what you do, wherever you go, you will be surrounded by the dark," Vesemir had once told him. "You can choose to remain in it and resent it, or you can hold up your own light and break it apart. It won't be easy. That's why you need to fight. The world won't ever let you stop fighting, but it will give you plenty of reasons to keep going." At the time, he had accepted the words at face value with a respectful nod. Now, as he saw the facets of the world, he'd seen their truth.

So why was this witcher still so jaded? Perhaps cynicism was prominent in the Bear guild like sleaziness was in Cat. Who knows? Geralt was curious. He wasn't ready to leave this witcher alone quite yet.

The past minute had been spent in silence. Geralt had been pondering to himself while Kozin, reclined, continued to smoke from his clawed pipe. Suddenly, the dark-haired man said, "So you want to hear stories, Wolf? Very well." He raised an arm and made a sharp beckoning gesture. The lazy fog of smoke that hung around his head stirred. The innkeeper appeared. "Rye beer. Two, topped to the brim," he demanded before the innkeeper could get out a word. To Geralt, he continued, "I've seen more than I care to in this world of fools. There's one thing that has been made clear to me time and time again." Kozin sat forward, leaning his arms on the table. "There is nothing worth caring for. Try, and there'll be naught but disappointment."

Jaded from head to toe. "I take it you've had a few relationship go sour?"

"Don't mistake your shortcomings for mine," Kozin spat. A server brought the tankards to their table. He waved them off without so much as a glance to their direction. "There was a time when I used to care. I was naïve. And then I found myself in a village nestled in a small, forgotten corner of Temeria. They claimed that there were monsters among them, and they were right."

* * *

 _ **Addendum: I'm not really sure when this Geralt-Kozin meeting happens. The most I can say is between Andrzej Sapkowski's The Last Wish (ie. the "first" book in the Witcher series, time-wise) and the first Witcher game. Not very specific, I know.**_

 _ **Cover is a concept drawing of Kozin that I burped up a while ago.**_

 _ **Also, smoking is bad for you, kids. Unless you're a witcher. But chances are, you're not.**_


	2. Contract: Howls in the Night pt-1

Once he had listened to the alderman's explanation, the dark-haired witcher took the pipe from the corner of his mouth to speak. "I don't see why I've been called," Kozin said. "Wolves howl. That village is by a wooded area. There is nothing unusual."

"The patrolmen have reported that…" The alderman's voice drifted to a halt. Kozin noticed the bulge in the man's neck move as he nervously swallowed. The pause was growing too long. He was getting impatient at the old man's slow effort to retain his composure. "That?" Kozin demanded hotly.

"W—they reported that the howls appear to be coming from _within_ the village."

That was it? That was the bit of information that had spooked the old fool so? Kozin had half a mind to leave, but work was work. Yet if he found that this was all simply a waste of time… "Nothing but noisy dog," he said. "This seems hardly worth a witcher's attention."

"It sounds of no dog, nor wolf, nor any animal the men have ever heard," the alderman insisted. "They say it sounds… otherworldly." That didn't help in the least bit. From the sound of them, Kozin was sure these men would call an owl hooting in the night 'otherworldly.'

"Bring in one of your men," he ordered. "I'll hear what he has to say."

The alderman beckoned the guard by the door over. The guard came over and bent down to listen to the alderman's barely audible command. Kozin, of course, heard every word. The guard was being ordered to bring a patrolman whose route took him directly through the village in question. Still, Kozin pretended to be oblivious. Resting an elbow on the arm of his chair, he returned the pipe into his mouth. He stared boredly at a fly cleaning its wings on a nearby wall and slowly breathed in the bitter smoke.

When the guard disappeared, the alderman continued, "None of the other settlements under our jurisdiction have reported anything like this."

"What did you expect?" Kozin replied dismissively. "The village is at the very edge of your territory. It is bordered by wilderness, and enjoys little to no security. How can mosquitoes not resist such exposed flesh?" The door to their little meeting room opened. The guard entered, followed by a man who wore a frayed patrolman's uniform. The crest of the territory's reigning clan was heavily faded from the cloth. No doubt the council's budgeting decisions neglected the patrolmen. The same better not apply for his payment.

"What is your name?" the alderman inquired. Kozin's foot began to tap impatiently. He had no desire to waste time with meaningless introductions.

"Temril, your lordship," the man replied. "I were in that village two days ago with a few of the other lads—patrolmen, when we heard it."

"Tell us about what you heard."

"It were—."

"Enough," Kozin interrupted abruptly. "I don't want to hear any more of this howling nonsense. That tells me nothing. What have you heard from the villagers themselves?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the alderman and patrolman give him startled glances. Kozin, on the other hand, was still watching the fly. It had switched to cleaning its two front legs.

"Well…" The patrolman began uneasily. "They… The villagers say—cl-claim tha' there's a, uh… an _identity stealer_ among them."

"A doppler?" Kozin assumed automatically, pressing the pipe against the corner of his mouth. "Is that what this is about?"

"Doppler?" the alderman parroted.

"A shapeshifter," Kozin explained briskly. "They borrow appearances." He turned his head and held eyes with the patrolman. "It is not in their nature to be violent. What exactly are the complaints of the villagers?"

"Folk there are tight-lipped," Temril answered. "Barely a word o'the matter from them. There's vague mention of killed an' stolen villagers."

 _Kidnappings and identity stealing. And murder, to top it off_ , Kozin thought to himself. _Could still be a doppler. A disgruntled one, perhaps. But taking villagers?_ He recalled that a large stretch of woodlands neighbored the area. _Spriggens are rumored to take children and replace them with fairies._ But that was only folklore, most likely sprouted from the mouths of storytellers. He had never heard of a documented case where that had actually happened. Still, he kept spriggens in his mental list of suspects.

"I think I'll have a look at this village," Kozin announced. He tipped the ash from his pipe into a nearby tray, then stowed the pipe away. Now that it was time to work, he would need his sense of smell back.

The alderman looked relieved. "Excellent!" he praised, getting ready to stand.

"Don't get up. We're not done," Kozin ordered. "I want my numbers straightened out first."

* * *

It was the dawn of the following day when Kozin arrived at the infamous village. As expected, it was a rather small settlement. Columns of dark smoke rose from a few of the buildings, cutting thick trails through the orange sky. As they drew near, his gray horse slowed to a walk.

Passing by the edge of the woods, Kozin turned and curiously scanned it. The layers and layers of tree trunks did little to obscure his vision. He saw the stirring of small rodents among the dead leaves and rustling of birds in the canopy. But there was nothing unusual, and he felt no presence of monsters.

So why, then, did the woods give him a slight feeling of unease?

Kozin tore his eyes away from the woods and steadied his gaze on the gate in front of him. First, he needed to find what he could from the village. The woods could wait. Stopping in front of the gate, he told the guards, "Your council sent me."

The gatekeepers looked at each other. "You are the witcher?"

"Don't act like you couldn't already tell."

There was a wave from one of them, and then the gate began to slowly swing open. Kozin took this chance to get a little information from the gatekeepers. "Seen anything strange?" he asked.

"Not much around the gates," the guard replied. "Seems they got the good sense to avoid us, whatever it is."

"And this howling," Kozin furthered. "Surely it can be heard from here?" He could see the man grow nervous under his helmet.

"Oh… Yes, I heard few. Mayhaps a night animal of some sort. That's what I think."

 _That's not what your reaction tells me_. The howling might be important after all. "Very well." He spurred his horse on, continuing through the gate. As he passed, he gave a brief glance at the walls on either side of the gate. They were made of flimsy wooden planks and looked rather pitiful. _Wouldn't even protect against a steady gust of wind_ , he thought.

Inside, Kozin dismounted from the horse and took in his surroundings. Everything was quiet. The village hadn't stirred awake yet, and the streets were empty. _It's almost peaceful_ , Kozin noticed. His horse turned its head. Kozin followed its gaze and saw a hen perched on a fencepost nearby. The warbling hen regarded the witcher with one unsteady eye, and then flipped its head over to watch him with the other. Suddenly, with a loud caw, the hen's feathers stood on end as it launched itself towards him. The horse spooked and shied away. Kozin calmly watched as the bird landed near his feet, pecking the dirt around his boots.

"Move along, now," Kozin mumbled to it, giving it a firm shove with his foot. "I haven't the time for you." The gray horse, on the other hand, began wandering away. It'd be able to take care of itself. For the next hour, as the sun crept up into the sky, Kozin traced the border of the village. He looked for any signs that the shaky walls had been breached. What he kept an eye out for was evidence that a spriggen was the cause of the village's problems. They weren't the brightest of forest lurkers, and they often left behind signs of their presence: a bit of twisted root poking from the ground, pieces of stray branches, or weaving patterns through the dirt.

As he suspected, there were no such traces. Kozin switched to the far more likely possibility—dopplers.

Facing a doppler was never a simple task, even for witchers. Their ability to shift into and imitate their target was so natural that they could even fool a witcher's senses. Medallions also failed to detect their presence.

Kozin called to mind something his master had told him long ago, back when he was a young man still undergoing training.

" _Mastery in the arts of combat and magic is vital. However, there is one other skill that is often neglected. A shame, really. It is just as powerful as the others: the art of influencing the mind."_

" _Axii, you mean?" the black-haired boy said._

" _Not quite, Kozin. Axii puts the caster in control of another's mind, intrudes on their will. But understanding the mind is another thing. It is unraveling the complexity of the emotions, reactions, and behaviors of a different people. Once you understand these things, you are able to notice the presence of lies, secrets, and hidden meanings."_

" _So no one will be able to hide anything from me?"_

" _Remember your responsibilities, boy. Not all secrets are there for you to uncover. Only do what is necessary."_

Dopplers, though masters of imitation, were not human. Human nature was not something that could be simply mimicked. But reading people, Kozin reminded himself, was not a concrete art. People were different. Some were better at hiding things than others.

The village was beginning to wake up. The day was greeted by people starting their morning chores. Kozin walked up to an elderly woman feeding the chickens in her yard. "This place has been experiencing some problems, has it not?" he asked. The woman glanced at him, and then returned to scattering the feed without a word.

"Been kept up by any strange noises at night?" he prodded.

"Bah!" the woman spat. "I've nothing to say to you." She turned her back to him. Kozin uncrossed his arms and left her. She was rude, but that was just about it. He hadn't noticed anything strange with her.

And it was like that over and over again throughout his search. Most of the conversations he started were met with hostility. Other times, he found caution and fright. Kozin reminded himself that this type of reception wasn't uncommon at all, given who he was. What he really needed to focus on was a person who acted irrationally. He met a few who were like that, but it wasn't enough to warrant suspicion. They weren't necessarily dopplers, just fools.

 _This isn't getting me anywhere,_ Kozin thought. _Best to wait for night and hear these 'otherworldly' sounds for myself_. He found himself a secluded spot along the wall and knelt down, resting his hands on his knees. The gray horse meandered to his side and grazed quietly. Kozin closed his eyes, casting out the rustling sounds of his companion, and fell into a deep state of meditation.

* * *

He waited until it was completely dark to open his eyes. It took but a second for his vision to adjust to the lack of light. Kozin turned to his horse. It was fast asleep, head down and legs locked in a standing position.

The witcher rose swiftly to his feet and patrolled the village once more. A few houses were lit from the inside. From one off in the distance, he heard vigorous thumping. Well… he didn't really have much to say to that.

Kozin found his way to the front gate. The night guards seemed a little surprised and disturbed by his appearance. They continued to sneak little glances towards him. The man paid them no mind as he kept his eyes trained on the edge of the woods.

"There are things out there," one of the guards suddenly said. Kozin turned his head slightly but didn't look away from the trees. "Like what?" he asked.

"Don't know. I heard a'them. The whole village knows a'them."

"No one told me anything about 'them.'"

"We're too scared to go mentioning them. Don't know who'll be next."

"Next? What are—?" Kozin cut off as it ripped through the air. The "howl."

The witcher whirled around, facing the village. He knew exactly what that sound had been. It wasn't a howl. It was a shriek. And it was far from otherworldly.

It came from a human.

Immediately, Kozin sprinted towards the noise. The first scream was followed by another. Coming from the same direction were murmurs. Shouts. Irregular thumping; they were the sounds of flesh being struck, beaten. Kozin quickly found the house it was all coming from. Orange light seeped from the windows, and long shadows flitted about inside.

The door gave away quickly. It crashed open as he came charging in, his silver sword in hand. But as he stopped to analyze the scene, he found that it was not at all what he expected. Gasps of fright peppered the air as the people nearest the door stumbled away. Kozin found himself staring out into a sea of eyes. What appeared to be half of the village was in the house, crowding the perimeter of the room. And in the center were three cowering figures.

"I appreciate no one telling me about this," Kozin growled, lowering his sword to his side. "What the hell is going on here?" The three in the center were also villagers. Their bodies showed obvious signs of physical abuse.

"This is no concern of yours, witchman," a man snapped.

Kozin glowered at him. "I'm making it my concern. Now talk, before I assume the worst and act accordingly."

"Get him out of here!" someone else shouted angrily. "This is our business!"

"Wait!" a frightened young man interjected. "The witcher might be able to bring them back!" A wave of whispers passed through the crowd.

"I won't be able to do anything until someone starts making sense." Kozin stepped towards the center of the room. The crowd melted away from him as he walked through. He stopped by the three beaten villagers and crouched down. One was a middle-aged woman, the other a man of similar age. The last one was a young boy, barely a decade old. "Why have you done this?" he asked. "They are people. Your neighbors."

"Darklings, they are!" a woman cried.

Kozin turned his head to the side. "Darklings?"

"Aye! Imposters! Monsters! They take the real ones and replace them!"

He'd never heard of such a monster. Perhaps 'darkling' was a local name for something else. "Tell me about them."

"Bloody things started killin' people three years ago," a woman in a wool shawl said. "'Twas a young girl they swapped first! A sweet, little lass. Then, one day, she starts behavin' funny. Completely different, like. Few days pass, and the girl disappears. Leaves behind a slaughtered family." She raised a shaking finger and pointed it accusingly at the three shivering bodies. "They hide in the forest, snatch a villager up, and send one of their own lookin' like us. We can tell! They don't act right no more! Then they butcher everyone in their household and bolt!"

There was no recollection of any monster that behaved like that. And yet, as the woman had told the story, Kozin could tell she wasn't lying. In fact, she was so sure of herself, it was almost frightening. It seemed like something had attacked them, and now they had grown so paranoid that they lashed out at anyone behaving strangely.

"How did the girl change?" Kozin asked.

"Always had a smile on her face," an old man recounted. "Met everyone with a polite greeting. Then she grew somber. Like a ghost, face blank and all."

Whatever replaced that girl, it hadn't been a doppler. The villagers wouldn't have noticed if one did. "So you bring the suspected ones here at night and kill them?"

"Nay, we don't kill them! Not at first! If the darklings in the woods hear the sounds of their own in pain, they'll return our people." Then, the old man added, "If they don't, we put them down before the families are killed."

Ironic. He had called the village peaceful when he first arrived. Kozin was starting to see the brutal underbelly of this place. "This has been going on for three years," he noted. He didn't want to imagine how many 'darklings' they had killed out of fear. "And how many villagers have been returned?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. "Yet you continue to torture them."

"They'll kill us all if we don't!"

"This is sick," Kozin uttered furiously. "Your fear has made you turn on your own. Enough! There will be no more persecutions, no more beatings! I'll not tolerate this perverted sense of justice. If there is such a 'darkling' tormenting you all, I will find it and end it."

"Then start with these!" The villagers pointed down at the three in the center.

Kozin glared at the crowd. They shied away. "Out!" he roared. "All of you!" The house emptied quickly. Soon, all was quiet except for the sobbing coming from the beaten villagers. The witcher knelt down and inspected the three. Their bodies were covered in bruises, cuts, and burns. Both old and new. "How long has this been happening?" he asked.

"Two days," the woman answered weakly. "They tell us we were going about strange. Called us darklings and locked us up! Drag us here and pummel us 'til we're too broken to keep screaming." She stared at him with wide, panicked eyes. "Please! I'm not a darkling! I swear it!"

"I believe you," Kozin told her. The woman closed her eyes, tears falling down her face.

"They were calling for my blood!" the man sobbed. "My wife and sons! 'Bring him back,' I heard 'em shout!"

Kozin exhaled slowly, trying to ease his mind. "The first darkling," he began. "The girl. Can you tell me anything about her?"

"I didn't know anything about her 'til the murders," the woman said. "Sh-she vanished. Not a trace of her found."

"I see," Kozin said. He realized the little boy had been staring at him. The boy's hair was black, just like his own. His eyes were red and swollen. "Can you move?" Kozin asked. He reached forward to inspect the child's wounds, but the boy quickly drew away from his hand and scurried into a corner.

"We can't go home," the man whispered. "They'll kill us."

"You don't have to go," Kozin told him. "I'll stay here tonight. If anyone tries to come in, I'll keep them away." For the rest of the night, he knelt there as a silent guardian. The faces of the villagers became peaceful as sleep numbed their pain. No one came to bother them.

After a while, Kozin realized that the boy had not gone to sleep. He knew when he heard the quiet sniffling coming from the corner. The witcher stood and approached the child. A wide pair of eyes peered up at him and then quickly ducked away. The sobbing became stronger; until the child's tiny body began shaking. Kozin lowered himself onto the ground and placed a hand gently on the boy's head. With his other hand, he raised his thumb, index and middle finger to form the Sign Axii.

The boy's sobbing lessened. Then, his breathing became gentle as he drifted to sleep. Kozin took his hand from the boy's hair and sat back, resting his hands on his knees.

 _Darklings_. He repeated the name in his head. Monsters that lived in the woods. Shapeshifters. Perhaps a variation of monsters related to dopplers? No wonder his medallion picked up nothing from the woods. According to the villagers, these creatures took humans and replaced them with imitations. These imitations would then go on to kill and flee. Why? And what happened to the kidnapped villagers?

Perhaps it was time to give the woods a visit.


	3. Contract: Howls in the Night pt-2

In the morning, the night watchmen at the gate were relieved by a fresh rotation. As the new guards settled into their posts, they noticed the witcher. He had been waiting for them.

"I want you to take these people under your protection," Kozin ordered, tilting his head back towards the man, woman, and boy behind him. "The villagers have grown hostile towards them. Keep them safe." Upon seeing the three, the men gave each other uneasy glances. "But they're—."

" _Humans_. Innocent," Kozin interrupted stonily. "And you will keep them safe. You hear me?"

"A-aye."

He turned away and headed back into the village to find his horse. Kozin became aware that someone was trailing him. He knew from the light, timid footsteps that it was the young boy. Looking back, he found himself confronted by the child's frightened eyes. "Stay with the guards," he told the boy.

"What if my da finds me?" the boy asked.

Kozin paused. Then, he crouched down to become level with the child. "What's your name?"

"Aki."

"Okay, Aki. I need to ask you a question." He watched the boy's face carefully. "Are you a darkling?"

The child's eyes filled with fear. "That's what they called me. I'm… I'm a boy, not a monster!" He started crying. "I want to go home! I want my ma! Why does she hate me?" Kozin was stunned. For a moment, he forgot where he was. His mind, like a startled bird, had taken off and flown somewhere hidden, buried. Forgotten. Until now.

 _A young boy. Black hair. Crying as he held the bloody rag under his ear where the thrown knife had cut him._

 _"Why did she do it?"_

 _The older man tilted the boy's head by the chin and peeled the rag away. He dabbed the wound with medicine. The clear salve slowly turned pink as it mixed with blood. "I told you, Kozin. I warned you, didn't I? Your eyes aren't blue anymore, or have you forgotten? You are no longer her son, and she is no longer your mother. Understand?"_

 _"But it's me! It's still me!"_

 _"She doesn't think that anymore. She sees you as a monster now. And nothing you will ever say or do will change that."_

He blinked, and returned to the present. "Stop it," he told Aki. "Crying won't help you."

"Is it my fault?" Aki whimpered, brushing his eyes.

"No," Kozin answered. "They're confused, just like everyone else. I'll go talk to them. Where is your house?"

"Over there." Aki pointed. "The roof is two colors. Da had to patch it up after a hailstorm."

Kozin stood up. "Thank you, Aki." Just as he was starting to walk away, he heard the boy pipe up again.

"Do you have a name?"

It was a question he had often returned with silence. This time… "Kozin. Call me Kozin." He glanced over his shoulder. "Remember, Aki. Back to the guards." He watched the boy run back to the gate. Then he made his way through the village, to the house with two roofs. He could hear people inside. Kozin raised a fist and slammed it against the door. He crossed his arms as he listened to the footsteps approaching the door. It opened a crack, and then quickly slammed shut.

"Who is it?" he heard a man whisper behind the door. "Aki?"

"No. The witchman!" a woman's voice answered.

 _I really hate being called that_ , Kozin thought. There was a long lull, and then the door opened fully. A man stood before him, his wife peeking nervously from behind him.

"What is it?" Aki's father asked nervously. "Have you gotten rid of the darkling? Has Aki returned?"

Kozin's hands tensed. "The boy you subjected to last night's beating _is_ Aki," he growled. "He's not a darkling. Why the hell did you ever think he was?"

"He started acting up, do things he normally didn't do: disobeying orders, sneaking out at night. The guards even caught him trying to climb over the wall."

What he was hearing was unbelievable. "He's a _child_. That's what they do."

"Not our Aki! He was always so well behaved. He's a darkling now, and that guard found him trying to go back into the forest! Had we let it go on any longer, we'd be found dead in our beds just like that girl's parents!" The man pointed towards the wall and the woods beyond. "If he wasn't a darkling, why would he try to go there? That's where they come from! Yorvik's seen the darklings go in there!"

"Yorvik? Who's he?"

"He used to be a watchman at the gates. On the night that girl disappeared, he said he saw her run to the forest. Said he saw the imposter's face!"

 _An eyewitness? Interesting._ He decided to go and hear what this retired guard had to tell him.

The house Kozin came to next was tucked away against the wall. The man who answered the door was not what Kozin had expected. He was a tall, well-built man who carried about himself a dignified air. His auburn hair was tied back, bits of grey speckled around his temple. His neatly trimmed beard outlined his strong jaw.

"I know why you're here," the man said. He opened the door wider to invite Kozin inside. "Why don't we talk by the hearth? Can I get you anything, master witcher?"

"I'm fine," Kozin answered as he stepped through the threshold. As always, he was greeted with a variety of smells inside the house. Smoky ash from the hearth, spices and food items behind cupboard doors, a musty whiff of stored alcohol. There was even the faint scent of flowers. A vase of them had probably once sat somewhere. "I just want to hear what you have to say, and I'll be on my way."

"Of course, of course. I take it you want to know about that night?"

"Begin."

"It was a quiet, simple night, I believe. No one knew about the murders until the next morning, so none of us were on edge, you see. As nothing was happening, a few of the watchmen found no harm in resting their eyes for a bit. Or maybe they had gone off to warm their stomachs with a little ale. I can't remember. I just know that I was alone when I saw a figure moving just beyond the wall. Thought it was a wolf at first—they occupied the woods and sometimes wandered close to the wall. I lit a torch to scare the beast away. That's when I saw that it was a girl hurrying towards the woods. I thought it bizarre, and called out to her. When she heard me, she turned to look at me."

Yorvik stopped talking. He looked distraught. "I must admit, I near shit myself at the sight of her face. It was contorted, inhuman. And her eyes, they burned like the waning sun. Awful."

 _You have something against orange eyes?_ Kozin thought irately.

"Then she turned. She raced towards the woods faster than I could imagine a human move. I stayed silent, telling myself that my drowsiness had fooled me. But when we found the girl's parents slaughtered, I had to speak up. We could hardly make any sense of it. I don't understand it myself, even now. But I know one thing: that girl I saw—she was not human."

When Yorvik finished his story, Kozin stayed silent, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he asked, "Did anyone ever search the woods?"

"A few dared to stand at the edge and watch for a while, but not me. I became a sad sight to see after that night. I couldn't sleep or eat. I jumped at every little rustle, every shadow. They relieved me of my duties. The sight of the gate still sends me into a cold sweat."

While Yorvik spoke, Kozin watched his face carefully. He didn't detect a lie. The man's discomfort seemed clear, that much was true. But the witcher had caught something else. A blip. He couldn't quite pinpoint it; reading faces never was an easy thing. It nagged Kozin like an itch. "Anything else you want to tell me?" he asked.

"No," Yorvik said. "My apologies, master witcher. Three springs have passed since that night, and I have fought hard to put those memories behind me. Much of the details have escaped me. I wish I could help you more. This village is in a disastrous state."

"That's all I need from you for now," Kozin said. "If you remember anything else, let me know." He left the house and wasted no time heading to the gate. It was time to go to the forest. As he walked, the witcher let out a low whistle. Seconds later, the gray horse trotted to his side and greeted him with a snort. Kozin climbed onto the horse and rode swiftly past the gate.

Once at the edge of the woods, Kozin pulled the horse to a stop. Standing by the trees, that vague feeling of unease returned to him. He felt the horse grow tense. The beast snorted, ears flicking nervously. After a brief consideration, he decided it would be better to trek through the woods on foot. He dismounted and allowed the horse to gallop back towards the village, which it gladly did.

Dead leaves and grass crunched underfoot as he walked through the trees. These woods concealed many dark secrets. Kozin noticed old human remains peeking out from underneath shrubbery—corpses of suspected darklings discarded by the villagers at the edge of the woods.

 _This is a village full of barbarians. Animals_ , Kozin thought grimly. _I can't decide which place seems more dangerous now: here, or within those walls._

A squirrel perched on a low branch chittered at him, flicking its bushy tail. It scurried closer to the tip of the branch. Kozin watched it. "Seen any darklings around here?" he asked it to humor himself. The squirrel flicked its tail a few more times, and then disappeared.

Back to business. _I don't see any signs that anything human-like has been here._ He lowered himself to inspect the ground. Wolf tracks, rabbit tracks… nothing out of the ordinary. He could still smell the pungent scent of old bones. It came from the bodies left under the trees.

But there was an outlier. Kozin raised his head and inhaled deeply. One source of the smell did not come from the edge of the woods; it came from deeper within. He followed the trail. The scent was so faint that he often had to stop and reacquire it. The source, he figured, must've been quite a distance away. But it wasn't. In fact, barely ten minutes had passed when he found himself standing in front of the shallow grave.

The scent had been so faded because the corpse was old. The earth dipped down—the sign of a poorly dug grave. Grass grew from the ground, but there was something else stuck out between it. The left shoulder and arm of a skeleton protruded from the dirt. Kozin crouched down. He took the skeleton's arm and gingerly lifted it.

 _Human_ , he concluded. He inspected the forearm and elbow. _Female. Well, well. I wonder how many years you've rested here. Three, perhaps?_ Kozin lowered the arm and stood up. He'd found the "first darkling." She had been dead all this time, tucked away in this lonely grave. There were no other bodies in the vicinity, no evidence that anyone or anything had been here for a long time. What did that mean? _I need to talk to someone who knew her_.

It was past midday when Kozin came out of the woods. Another day was almost gone, and he still hadn't gotten any closer to finding these darklings. When he first started, he'd assumed that this was to be a quick job. Apparently not.

Suddenly, something on the ground caught Kozin's attention. Fresh tracks. A man had made them. There was evidence that someone had come from the village to the edge of the woods shortly after Kozin had gone in and paced about. Then, they'd returned to the village.

He followed the footsteps. They didn't lead to the gate; they led to a spot on the wall that was especially loose. Kozin pulled the rickety plank back and slipped through, still following the trail. They crossed the grass and walked between two houses. As Kozin emerged from the alleyway, he stopped. The tracks led to the village's main road and subsequently vanished among the dozens of other footprints, hoof prints, and wheel marks that textured the road.

Letting out an annoyed huff, Kozin let the issue go and went back to the gate. The guards there claimed they hadn't seen anyone else come from the woods. Next, he asked about anyone in the village who had relations with the vanished girl. There was one—a woman named Catha who had been close friends with the girl. Before he left the gates, Kozin asked about the three he had left under the guards' care. The watchman replied that they were fine and still under their safekeeping.

Kozin hesitated. "And the boy?"

"Here as well. He asked about you."

"… I see." He turned away, and then stopped. "Where is he now?"

The guard nodded towards the gate. "Frightened little thing, that one. Keeps right by the doors. Hardly a word from him 'cept when asking for you."

Kozin looked towards the gate apprehensively. He never had anyone think of him that way. Was this… right? He was supposed to be a witcher, a pariah, a silhouette standing at the edge of society. There was a dark scar on his neck under his ear, lest he forget. Even his own mother had cast him away.

That was probably why whenever he saw Aki, he felt he was looking at a mirror.

As the guard had said, the boy was by the gate, huddled in its shadow. When he saw Kozin, his face immediately brightened. "Aki," Kozin said. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Why did you ask where I was?"

"I just… j-just wanted to know you were nearby," Aki admitted sheepishly. "In case they find me."

A child afraid of his neighbors, his own parents. "I'm still here," Kozin assured, crouching down. "Is it okay out here? Guards treating you well?"

"They don't talk to me much. Naught to do except find hoppers in the grass," Aki said. He began to inspect the witcher's gauntlet with his hands. "Why do you got knives on your arms? You got two more on your back. And a big ol'bow, too." He pulled at one of the daggers. Kozin pushed it back.

"Can't be too sure," he answered. "Especially in the kind of world we live in." He unbuckled a case on his belt and pulled out a deck of cards. "Ever heard of gwent, Aki?"

"Gamblin'!" Aki gasped. "Ma said—she…" His voice dipped as though he were afraid to mention his mother too loudly. "She says gamblin's for…"

"For…?"

"For…" Aki's voice became a hushed whisper. " _Cheatin' whoresons_."

Kozin laughed. "No need to keep your voice down, kid. I'm not your mother. You can say what you please around me." He held the deck up and ran a thumb through the corners of the cards. "Gwent isn't just for gambling. It's just a game, but people like to tie money to it. Makes it a little more exciting." He gave the deck to Aki, who flipped through the cards.

"Oh!" the boy chirped, pausing at each card to admire the picture.

"You like them?"

"Did you make these?"

"Afraid not. I'm a piss poor artist. That's why I had to resort to killing monsters instead."

As Aki studied the cards, Kozin saw how his eyes passed straight over the words at the bottom of each one. It was clear the boy couldn't read. "How do you play a game with pictures?"

"There are rules. It's not that hard to learn. Once I sort out this entire mess, I could teach you," Kozin promised. "For now, hold onto that deck for me."

"Okay." Aki clutched the cards to his chest like he expected any one of them to sprout wings and fly off.

"Good boy. Don't stray far from the gate."

The witcher stood and headed back into the village. He went straight to the home of this Catha. Upon arriving, he saw a woman, perhaps in her forties, hunched over an herb garden in front of the house. The woman's gaze immediately popped up and focused on the black-haired man as he approached. Her eyes were piercing and her nose was hooked like an eagle's beak. Kozin could almost feel her stare boring a hole through him.

" _Witchman_." Her voice was sour as she addressed him. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to talk to Catha," Kozin answered. "I need to ask her a few things."

"What does a witchman need with my daughter?"

"Pay attention. I just told you: a few questions."

The woman narrowed her eyes. Stubborn as an ass, this one. "Or maybe I'll just leave," Kozin snapped, "and let the darklings claim your daughter."

"Cool your knickers," the woman grunted, straightening up. "I'll fetch her. You stay right here—not a step closer to the house."

Kozin rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips as he waited. A minute later, he heard a ruckus coming from behind the door of the house.

"Ma, stay inside," a young woman's voice said.

"I'll not have you alone with that cat-eyed demon!"

"Stop it, Ma! Here, hold the baby and go to the kitchen… _No,_ Ma! I said go!" Finally, the door opened. A young woman stepped out. The gods had blessed her, for she had not inherited her mother's cold eyes or hawk nose. Kozin dropped his arms as she approached him. "Catha?"

"Yes. What can I do for you, good witcher?"

"Three years ago, a friend of yours disappeared," Kozin began. "What can you tell me about her?" He decided to keep quiet about the body in the woods.

A mournful look crossed Catha's face. "Her name was Meina," she said. "She was a wonderful friend. We even told each other that our children would become close. I couldn't believe it when she disappeared."

"People say she changed days prior to her disappearance," Kozin prompted. "Did you notice this as well?"

"I didn't see her," Catha said. "She started avoiding me. I suppose that was strange in of itself."

"Hmm," Kozin mumbled. "And did she ever go near the woods?"

"No," Catha replied. "Never. We—." She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. One of the windows in the house was opened half way. Kozin caught a glimpse of a beak nose before it hurried out of view. "That woman—will she ever…" Catha muttered under her breath. "I must apologize for my mother's behavior. She is… weary of strangers."

"Especially cat-eyed ones, isn't that right?"

Catha's eyes widened. "Have you got cat ears too?" she blurted out. A hand flew up and she pressed her fingertips against her lips. "Oh, pardon me, sir!"

"My ears are quite normal," Kozin mumbled. Just then, he caught a whiff of something startling familiar through the open window. A jarring sense of déjà vu hit him. "What is that?" Kozin wondered out loud. "Perfume?"

"What?" Catha said.

"That smell coming through your window. It's very concentrated. A perfume?"

"You can smell…? Just how acute are your senses?" Catha gasped.

Kozin felt a rising sense of urgency. "What does it matter?" he snapped. "Hurry and answer. What is that smell?"

"A-a perfume? Could you be referring to…?" Catha trailed off. "Wait, just a moment." She hurried back into the house. After a moment, she returned with a small bottle in her hand. Kozin breathed deeply as she came up to him. That was it. Where had he encountered that scent before?

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"This was Meina's," Catha said. "She made it herself, and she was so proud of it. I think of her whenever I smell it. She used to wear it every day." She smiled sadly. "A dab on each wrist before we would head out. This bottle was still in her house when…" She looked down at the perfume. "I've held onto it ever since. I keep it to remember her. Maybe one day, she'll come back." Kozin remained silent.

* * *

Evening settled over the village. Catha had invited Kozin in to stay for the night, but he preferred not to be stuck in the same confinement as the old eagle. Instead, he knelt in the yard, though he was sure those eagle eyes were still trained on the back of his head.

An hour passed. Kozin rose from his meditative trance and opened his eyes. It was starting to grow dark, though not for him. He breathed slowly through his nose. His mind churned. That scent… that scent… It had been somewhere else in this village. He was sure of it.

The door opened and Catha stepped out. She carried with her a wooden cup, which she offered to Kozin. It had a golden colored drink in it. "I haven't much to offer," she apologized. "Just a bit of mead, newly bottled. Might be a little too weak to your liking." Weak mead. Tragic. But as he had not eaten or drank anything since arriving, it still sounded tempting. As Kozin took the cup, she said, "Are you sure you don't want to come inside?"

"This is enough," Kozin responded. "You have my thanks." In the distance, from the direction of the woods, wolves howled. Catha glanced nervously towards the sound. "Good night, sir," she bade quickly. The woman returned inside. The witcher was alone to listen to the wolves. Finally, some actual howling. Kozin gripped the underside of the cup with a hand. As he breathed in the sweet aroma of the drink, he thought again of the perfume. That fragrance… he recalled it had a delicate, earthy tone, like…

Like flowers.

The realization hit him as he was taking a drink from the cup. Because of it, he nearly missed the barely detectable taste. And then another thing dawned on him: that taste—it had not been honey or alcohol. It was strychna, a poison. A very lethal, fast-acting poison.

The cup fell on the ground, its contents splattering across the grass.


	4. Contract: Howls in the Night pt-3

_"This is a subject we will not delve too deeply into. We are, after all, the School of Bear. Unlike the Viper guild, our lethality comes from bodily strength, not poison and alchemy. But knowledge is power, so pay close attention. What you learn today may save your life."_

Already, the liquid was forcing his body to work against him. Sputtering, the witcher tried to climb to his feet. He stumbled and fell into his hands and knees.

 _"This one is strychna. No, don't lean in; you won't be able to smell it anyway. It is especially dangerous. The poison does not even need to be completely absorbed into the body. You need but ingest it. Unfortunately, once you do, you have precious few seconds left. Symptoms appear immediately, including breathlessness, a dulling of the senses, and a fit of muscle spasms."_

Kozin's body twitched madly. The sight of the grass between his hands wavered in and out. He couldn't hear anything but the pounding of blood in his ears. The convulsing muscles in his neck were constricting his throat. He couldn't breathe. He tried to open his mouth to gasp, but had trouble unclenching his jaw. Shaking uncontrollably, Kozin managed to haul himself up and stagger towards Catha's house.

 _"Usually once the symptoms start, it is too late. However, a witcher may be able to save himself if he manages to expunge the poison from his system in time. That's it. That is the only thing he can do."_

There were screams as the door ripped from its hinges and the wheezing, disheveled figure came crashing in. Kozin nearly fell over, but managed to catch himself on a wall. Through his blurry vision, he saw dark shapes reel away from him. "What did you do to me?" he roared at them through gritted teeth. He couldn't even hear his own voice.

Kozin stumbled towards the kitchen. His hands felt wildly at the counters and cupboards as he searched for it. Utensils, produce, and bottles fell onto the floor as his bumbling arms knocked them aside. Finally, he found it: round jar with a familiar saline smell rising from it. The smell was strong enough for him to still identify it. Without thinking, he smashed the top of the ceramic jar into the wall. He felt some of it pour out and over his hands. Kozin threw his head back and dumped the contents of the jar into his mouth. It was immediately filled with an intense, nauseating taste. He struggled to swallow the salt, and then spilled more into his mouth.

Instantly, the reflex was triggered. Kozin dropped the jar and lurched forward. Gripping the counter for support, he retched violently, vomiting onto the floor. When the heaves subsided and his stomach was empty, he leaned heavily on the counter, eyes closed and teeth grinded together. His head spun. His mouth and throat burned from the salt and acid. His stomach ached badly. But at least he was alive.

When next he opened his eyes, Kozin realized that he could finally see again. And hear. He heard terrified whispers coming from the other room and a baby crying. Kozin's hands balled into fists. He pushed himself off of the counter and slowly walked towards the noise. As he stepped into the room, he spotted Catha, her husband, and her mother huddled at the far end. A distraught baby was in the young woman's arms.

There was a heavy silence. Kozin reached back and drew his steel sword. There was a loud gasp from the other end of the room, and Catha began sobbing.

"You tried to kill me," Kozin accused, his voice slow and soft. "Why?" He began slowly walking towards them. With every step, the three shrank further and further against the wall.

Catha's husband quickly stepped in front of her to shield his wife from the approaching man. "M-master witcher, please—."

"Answer me!" Kozin barked. "Or I swear I will gut each of you and throw that child into the fire!"

"H-He told me to!" Catha suddenly cried out. "He told me if I wanted to keep my baby safe, I was to take that b-bottle and poison the drink!"

"Safe?" Kozin repeated. " _Safe?_ Right now, I'm the only thing standing between you and the other bloodthirsty mongrels out there! Who gave you the poison?"

"I… I can't—."

"You _will._ "

"It was Yorvik," Catha whimpered. "He came by 'round the back as I was preparing the drink. He told me you being here in the village was putting my family in danger, that your presence was angering the evil in the forest. He said I was going to see my family die unless I did something, and handed me the bottle. I-I'm so sorry…!"

Kozin glowered at them. They avoided his gaze, cowering like frightened rabbits. They were weak. As much as he hated them, detested them, for what they tried to do, he couldn't bring himself to raise his sword. "You're just as bad as the rest of them," he spat. The steel sword returned to its sheath, and he left the house. As he walked down the path, he could still hear the baby wailing.

 _Yorvik_. It didn't surprise him in the least bit. Everything was all starting to come together now. He finally remembered where he had first caught that scent, the perfume that belonged to Meina. It had been in Yorvik's house. That smell of old flowers. And then there was that blip he saw in the man's face as he had recounted his story. _I'm on to you now, Yorvik. I'm going to make you tell me the truth, one way or another._

The streets were dark. Crickets trilled from under the tall grass. His footsteps were fast and heavy as he headed towards the house by the wall. But as Kozin drew closer, he slowed. No, he couldn't lose his head now. _Assess the enemy_. Yorvik had managed to hide his dark intentions from even Kozin's watchful eye. And now there was Meina's perfume. Who knew what else that man had kept hidden away? Kozin needed to keep his mind sharp.

Yorvik's house came into view. As to be expected, there were no lights coming from within. Kozin stopped a short distance away and eyed the building. He couldn't hear anything coming from within. No movement, no breathing, no heartbeat. The house was empty.

 _Cowardly little wretch_ , the witcher thought disdainfully. _But what do I expect from one who coerces a frightened mother to do his dirty work?_ At the same time, this provided a good opportunity. If Yorvik wouldn't give him the answers he needed, then it was time to find them out for himself.

The door was unlocked. Someone had obviously left the house in a hurry. The door hadn't even been closed completely—the latch bolt was wedged in the doorframe. _What's the hurry?_ Kozin wondered sarcastically as he opened the door and stepped in. _Off to deliver a poison? Afraid that a certain witcher has…_ He breathed deeply… _Picked up your trail?_ It was there, that faded smell of flowers. Kozin followed it to Yorvik's room. Briefly, his eyes glanced over the pelt-covered bed and wooden nightstand before fixating on the wardrobe. The smell was coming from there.

Kozin opened the wardrobe door. The little space was filled with varying items of clothing. Several, he noticed, seemed quite extravagant. _Quality threading,_ Kozin remarked. _Not what you'd expect to see in a modest little place like this._

He shoved the shirts aside to expose the back of the wardrobe. From one gauntlet, he pulled a small dagger and flipped it handle-first. He tapped the dagger's pommel against the wooden backboard. The knocks sounded sharp. Solid. Next, he crouched down and did the same against the bottom of the wardrobe. The taps sounded duller as they reverberated through a hollow space. _I thought so_. Kozin flicked the dagger back over and wedged the tip of the blade into the edge of the bottom board. The blade trembled from the strain, and then the board came off. Kozin put it aside.

There was a small cavity at the bottom of the wardrobe. Along with the perfume was an overpowering scent of metal—gold, silver, and platinum. But there were only a few items currently in there. Apparently, this secret compartment saw many items come and go.

Kozin reached in and took one of the items. He raised the long strand of gold in front of his face. It was a bracelet. Perfume was not the only old scent on it; there was also blood. Sliding the dagger back in to his gauntlet, Kozin took the bracelet in both hands and examined it. _Perfume, blood… soap. This bracelet certainly has a story to tell._ The surface of the gold was speckled with rust and cracks. _This thing wasn't cared for very well. Strange for something of such high value. Yorvik had to hide it. Soap to clean the blood, and then into the compartment to be hidden from the world. Hold on a second…_ Kozin ran a thumb over the small divots of gold that hung from the chain. _There used to be gemstones in these. Each one was removed… not even a trace of glue. The soapy water dissolved it away. He took the gemstones out and immediately threw the bracelet in here. Couldn't sell the rest of it for whatever reason. Maybe someone would recognize it. There was still some water on it; the gold rusted._ Kozin reached into the compartment and moved the items around, inspecting each of them. _Jewelry, trinkets… All made of precious metals. You'd fetch pretty prices from these._ He raised his head and looked at the clothes. _And have a coin bag fat enough to afford a little luxury._ Kozin pocketed the rusty bracelet and placed the board back over the compartment.

 _He's not a pickpocket, no. I doubt anyone's noticed any missing belongings. Hard to do that when you're dead._ Kozin was starting to suspect that there were no monsters at all. At least, not the kind that needed to be dealt with using silver. The little bracelet had told him the whole story. _Now I want to hear it from the horse's mouth. Where is that filth?_

It as though the gods had heard him. Kozin heard footsteps approaching the house. The door tentatively opened, and someone tiptoed in. A candle was lit in the other room. Kozin walked silently over to the doorway and leaned on the frame. Yorvik had his back turned as he kindled a flame in the hearth. Kozin watched, arms crossed. When the first bits of fire crackled on the wood, the man turned around. When he saw the figure in the doorway, a shocked, terrified look came to his face. It was easy to read what his expression was saying. _You're supposed to be dead._

"Something the matter?" Kozin asked casually. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Yorvik quickly masked himself with anger. "What are you doing? This is my home!" he demanded.

Kozin ignored his angered words. "It's late," he noted. "I guess you had some place to be? Must've been important, given the hour."

"Is a man not allowed a nightly stroll?" Yorvik defended.

"Not when that man is you. I thought you knew better," Kozin replied, tilting his head to shroud his face from the flickering light. "Might see a creature with glowing, orange eyes."

"Do you think me a liar?" Yorvik's upset face looked sincere, but Kozin wasn't fooled. "Master witcher, I am a tormented man. I have helped you the best I can, and this is how you treat me?"

Yorvik wasn't going to drop his act without a fight. Fine. "I hear you," Kozin said. "Very well. Why don't you assuage my concerns and give me the details of your delightful little stroll?"

"It was just a simple walk," Yorvik said. "I took a short route and didn't stray far from home."

"Did you happen to stop by anyone's house?" Kozin prodded.

"No." It was a lie, but Yorvik was hiding it well. If Kozin hadn't been heaving up his insides earlier, he might have been inclined to believe him.

"Tell me what you saw. What you heard."

"Master witcher—."

"Otherwise I'll start getting very suspicious," Kozin interrupted. "I had a little incident earlier, and I'm rather keen on finding the responsible party."

"Incident? Did something happen?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with." _Not yet_. "Now answer me."

"I… well, it was getting dark, but I could still see the road," Yorvik recounted slowly. "As usual, the crickets were fussing about. I heard o'couple of wolves crying out, too. Gave me horrible chills. I decided to keep away from the walls for a while and head towards the village center. Just when I was to arrive there, I noticed how quickly the sun was dropping and decided to head back. The sun set and it became dark before I got home. To be safe, I took the long way back, along the main road, instead of walking along the wall. It made me feel better to pass by the houses. Even old Mavere's rickety old shack with that wheelbarrow sitting in his yard. You know the road, right? Runs through the village, looping this way and that like a confused snake. Took me a while to get home."

"I do," Kozin answered. He even knew the wheelbarrow Yorvik spoke about. His explanation seemed detailed enough. He even mentioned the wolves—the one Kozin had heard as he was given the poisoned mead. Yorvik's elaborate alibi may have sounded believable, but it must've been thrown together rather quickly. Just a simple nudge would send it toppling over.

"That's quite a pelt," Kozin suddenly remarked, nodding towards the beige fur laid out in front of the hearth. "Some breed of wildcat?"

"A lynx," Yorvik answered, blinking a few times from the quick change in topic. "My father was an accomplished hunter."

"Hmm," Kozin murmured. Louder, he said, "Now clear something up for me, won't you? Where were you when you heard the wolves howling?"

"I was passing by the wheelbarrow," Yorvik answered automatically. There it was. Talking about the pelt had caused Yorvik's mind to stray away freshly woven lie. Then, when trying to answer Kozin's question as quickly as possible to seem sincere, a little bit of the truth had slipped out.

"Mavere's wheelbarrow?"

There was hesitation. "Yes."

"See, I find that a little strange." Kozin moved away from the doorframe and straightened up. "You're telling me that you heard the wolves howl as you passed by Mavere's wheelbarrow on your way home. Then sun had already set by then."

"How is that strange?" Yorvik asked. "Wolves howl throughout the night." Despite his confident voice, Kozin could see a bead of sweat forming at the base of his hair.

"You're right," Kozin said, not bothering to keep the sneer out of his voice. "But unfortunately for you, those wolves happened to howl while there was still light out. They haven't made a peep since. And don't tell me I'm wrong." Kozin uncrossed his arms. "Because I heard them too, right before someone tried to _poison_ me."

"P-poison?" Yorvik stammered. "Who would do something like that?"

"Who indeed?" Kozin said. "Mavere's 'rickety old shack' is fairly close to Catha's home, isn't it? Close enough for someone to hurry by as their poison is delivered to their target."

"What… what are you trying to insinuate?" Yorvik cried, flustered. "You were with Catha when you were poisoned? Shouldn't that mean that she was the one who did it?"

"I thought that too, at first. And then she told me something very interesting," Kozin said. "Care to guess what she said? Let me give you a hint: it's why I'm here."

"Of course the criminal would blame someone else!"

Kozin let out a harsh, barking laugh. Yorvik flinched. "Oh, this conversation really has been a delight," he chuckled. "A minute ago you were spouting nothing but lies, and now you've struck me with an unexpected truth. Do you know how you sound, Yorvik? I've met Catha. She isn't the kind of person to try and murder someone and point the finger at someone else just for the fun of it."

"Then maybe… maybe that isn't Catha at all!"

The amusement dropped from Kozin's face. He stepped towards Yorvik. "Resorting to your fairytales again?" His voice escalated. "Enough with the darklings! You and I both know they don't exist. They don't live in the forest, steal villagers, or kill families! They were just invented by a coward trying to cover up what he did!" Kozin took out and raised the rusty bracelet to Yorvik's face. "And I _know_ what you did!"

"H-how did you—."

"Every day, a dab on each wrist," Kozin recalled. "Must've really gotten into the metal. That's why I could still smell it. You probably smelled it too, didn't you, Yorvik? The night you killed her and her family?" He gave the chain a shake. "And why not profit from it while you're at it? You've been profiting ever since!"

"I did not kill that girl!" Yorvik insisted. "I told you what happened that night!" He was starting to back away.

"Oh yes, that's right," Kozin spat. "You were at the gate. Alone, you said. Why, you could have seen any number of things! But you didn't. You were deep in the forest, hiding the corpse of your victim so you could transform her into a monster! I found the body, Yorvik, and you knew that. So you turned to your little friend, strychna, to get me off your back. You just _had_ to keep your rumor afloat!" With each step Yorvik took, Kozin took another, advancing towards the man. "And how the village believed you! How many innocent people have been slaughtered by their own friends? Family? And last night, they beat down on a defenseless child! All because of your _fucking_ lie!" Kozin reached back to draw his sword, but as he did, Yorvik grabbed a handful of old ash from a basin and threw it.

Kozin closed his eyes and turned his head away. The gritty ash covered his face and clung to his lashes. Though blinded, Kozin could clearly hear where Yorvik was. The witcher felt hands grabbing for his sword. His arm shot out and he seized Yorvik tightly by the neck. The man gasped for breath as he let go of the sword and struggled. Kozin managed to hold on until he was shoved into something. His grip broke and he fell onto it with a loud crash.

Propping himself up on his arms, he felt heavy thuds as Yorvik bolted out of the house. "Gods help us!" the man was shouting. "They're here! The darklings! Get up before you are butchered in your sleep! The monsters are upon us! The darklings!"

He was making enough of a racket to wake all of Temeria. Kozin quickly wiped the ash from his face. He pulled himself up from the remnants of the crushed wooden chair. When he dashed out after Yorvik, he saw that villagers scrambled out of their houses with candles, lanterns and… weapons.

Yorvik was further up the road. He pointed as the witcher emerged from the door. "There!" he cried as villagers turned to look. "He is one of them! He means to kill us! Stop him!" Much to Kozin's dismay, he realized that the villagers believed him. They glared at Kozin and charged towards him with weapons raised.

 _Just a bunch of bumbling FOOLS_ , he roared in his mind as the villagers closed in on him. He raised his sword and swiftly deflected a shovel. Another villager swung at him with an axe. Kozin dodged to the side and parried a pitchfork that was aimed at his head. _I can't reason with them. They're lost._ Bending his index finger, he threw out his arm in a sweeping motion. Fire erupted around him. Like frightened animals, the villagers darted away. With his way cleared, Kozin continued his chase. Yorvik had left a very clear trail for him. The coward was running for the gate.

Even with the head start, Kozin gained ground. No man on his own could outrun a witcher. He reached the gate just in time to see Yorvik climbing onto his gray horse. That _really_ pissed him off. "You fucker!" Kozin shouted out in rage.

Yorvik threw a panicked glance over his shoulder, and then kicked the horse into a gallop. A few guards stumbled and cried out as the horse and rider charged through the gate. They hardly had time to catch their breaths when a furious witcher raced by them.

The coward, Kozin noticed, was heading straight for the woods. As they neared the edge, the gray horse stopped. It gave a terrified whinny. Yorvik forced it forward and continued into the woods. But by now, Kozin was not far behind. His eyes granted him the ability to see every tree that stood in his way, every root and stone that reached for his feet. The gray horse was having a little more trouble navigating its path. Its usual master was not there to guide it.

As he kept in pursuit, Kozin pulled the bow over his head. He took an arrow and fitted it onto the string. The witcher suddenly ducked into a crouch and, as he did, let out a low whistle. He saw one of the horse's ears turn back. The arrow was loosed just as the horse slowed its gait.

In a blink, the tip was lodged into Yorvik's shoulder. There was a scream that sent an owl gliding away. Kozin ran over to the horse and the downed man. Yorvik wasn't dead. Kozin caught the coward trying to pull himself away and pinned him down with a foot.

"Can't even hit a target properly," Yorvik mocked, his voice tight with pain. "What kind of witcher are you?"

"I wasn't aiming to kill you," Kozin replied as he pulled off the chain that had wrapped over his belt. "That would be showing you more mercy than you deserve. You have a lot to answer for." He bound Yorvik's wrists and ankles with the long cord of chain and hauled him onto the horse. Then, he climbed into the saddle.

* * *

There was a lull in the story as the narrator took another slow drag from his pipe. He parted his lips and let the smoke pour from his mouth. The tankards on the table were now empty.

"By the next dawn I had thrown the scum down at the alderman's feet. I told him I had found the village's monster, and that he could do away with it as he pleased," Kozin continued. Smoke creeped out from the corners of his mouth.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the alderman had a little trouble believing you," Geralt said. "When people hear 'monster,' they usually expect some fanged beast or half-rotted fiend."

"Yorvik did most of the work for me," Kozin replied. "The damn whoreson spilled everything in front of the alderman. Not just confessions, tears. He cried about as much as he laughed. People tend to behave rather… interestingly… when they know their lives are over." Kozin put the pipe in his mouth and sighed out the smoke. "I heard the whole thing. Couldn't leave; hadn't gotten my money yet. You want to know the real truth behind the darklings?"

"Sure."

"That girl, Meina, was never taken by anything. The "changed" version of her that everyone saw was what she was like after that filthy piece of shit raped her. Then, a few days later, he gets worried. Thinks she'll tell someone. He was a guard, and that girl was well liked. They would have hanged him. So he creeps into her house to silence her. Takes out the family too, in case they already knew. He hid her body, and then began the darkling rumor. A lot of people were hanged in his place. Animals, the lot of them. Led by a psychotic shepherd." Kozin took another drag and forcefully huffed it out.

"What did they finally do to him?" Geralt asked.

"I don't know. Didn't stick around to find out. I got paid and left. I hope they really gave the bastard his worth."

"And the boy? Aki?"

There was a long pause. The pipe was placed in Kozin's mouth and stayed there for a while. Finally, the black-haired witcher removed it and said, "I know what you're thinking, Wolf. But he deserved a life far better than what I could give him."

"The boy admired you."

"And had he stayed with me any longer, that admiration would've been short-lived." Kozin placed the pipe on the table to adjust the quiver that was strapped to his thigh. Still looking down, he continued. "I went back to that village one last time to take him out of that hellish place. Dropped him off at a fishing town on the shore of one of Lake Vizima's branching rivers. I found a merchant who sold robes and had quite a bit of coin to show from it. His wife was barren. They gladly took the child in. Aki has nothing to miss."

"Seems you left him your deck," Geralt pointed out. He had noticed that the pouch for cards on Kozin's belt was empty. Even after all this time, he hadn't bothered to put together a new one.

"Good eye," was the only reply. Kozin had picked his pipe back up and was reclining in his chair. His gaze was focused somewhere else. _Perhaps there's another fly on the wall_ , Geralt quipped to himself.

"Did you ever try to reconnect with him?" He calculated that Aki would've been almost 60 by now.

"No." Kozin blew out another plume and idly rested his head against a fist. "I don't like people anymore, Wolf, and I just told you why."

"Because of a few bad eggs," Geralt said.

"Try a whole village full. I saw their eyes when they attacked me. Full of primal hate. All it took was just a few yells from a lunatic to abandon their humanity. I felt lost. I can only imagine how those dead, discarded people felt as their own mothers, fathers, and spouses dragged them through the streets. And you know what the real kicker is? That wasn't the first or last time I watched people tear themselves apart." Another drag. "I really don't like people."

"If you insist." Geralt couldn't say he agreed with how Kozin saw the world, but he understood how he'd come to that conclusion. He stood. "I think it's time I leave."

"I think so too," the Bear witcher muttered. Geralt left the table. He stopped by the innkeeper to drop a couple of crowns for the drinks, and then walked out of the inn without so much as a backward glance.

As he stepped out, he squinted into the sky. It was well into the afternoon by the looks of it. Geralt called Roach over and pulled himself onto the horse's back. It was time to move on.

And so Geralt rode on, leaving the unknown little village, the inn, and the tired witcher behind. He left after hearing that witcher's story—of the contract that had made him lose hope.

He left after hearing the false ending. The fabrication.

The Bear witcher had lied to him. He never told Geralt of what really happened. With every drag, every slow exhale, the veil of mist grew heavier around his stoic face. He was alone in the fog to relive what'd truly transpired that night.

That night, there had been no justice wrought. There was only death. And among them, he had gone too.


	5. What Kind of Witcher

The confession hadn't been spilled at the alderman's feet. It'd been divulged that night to Kozin's ears only. They were riding back to the village. Yorvik, slung over the horse's withers like a sack, told all to the witcher. What he'd done to Meina and why. How he'd used imaginary monsters as scapegoats. How so many perfectly innocent people took the fall. And as he admitted it all, he couldn't help but laugh. They were desperate, pleading laughs—evidence of his unhinged mind.

Kozin listened intently. He didn't want to hear it, to be reminded once again the worst mankind was capable of. But he listened. He listened to every word. His face remained stony, but inside, he was screaming. This thing he was carrying back to the village, it wasn't a man. It wasn't even a monster. It was a parasite. It stuck to the underside of humanity, sucking the life out of it and injecting its own vile poison at the same time.

Suddenly, the witcher's head perked up. He had been too distracted to hear it at first. There was a fire, a large, uncontrollable one burning in the distance. He heard the crackles of splintered wood. They were far from the smoke, but he could smell it. Kozin urged the gray horse into a canter, turning a blind eye to Yorvik's discomfort. As they neared the edge of the woods, the smell and sounds grew stronger. Kozin's heart raced. That fire was coming from the village.

As Kozin broke through the trees, he saw a wall of brilliant light. The village gates were aflame! _Aki!_ was his first, panicked thought.

The gray horse snorted and pinned its ears. Kozin didn't coax it any closer to the fire. He dismounted and raced towards the crumbling gates. From behind, he heard Yorvik's maniacal cackle.

Kozin raised his arms over his head as he crashed through the gates and into the village. Behind him, the weakened structure collapsed. He lowered his arms and saw a body lying close by. It was the man Kozin had found in the crowded house, one of the three villagers that'd been accused of being a darkling. His body was a mess. The ground around him was covered in blood. He had been hacked at and beaten to death, and Kozin couldn't tell which injury had been the one to finally snuff out his life.

It wasn't over. In the distance, Kozin heard shouting coming from the village center. He ran. Each house he passed had its door flung wide open. Nobody was home. The evil creatures of the night had poured out onto the streets, spurred into wild chaos by Yorvik's uproar. A dense feeling of dread rose in Kozin's gut. They were starting their hunt, their twisted crusade.

A swaying figure in the corner of his eye caught his attention and made him stop. It was a woman; the second accused villager. Her head draped down to her chest as she swung listlessly from the creaking rope. Blood ran in streams down her arms and dripped slowly from her fingertips. Kozin stared in horror, struggling to breath. Two were dead. And next was…

A scream pierced the air.

 _"KOZIN!"_

A shock ran through his body and jumpstarted it into motion. Kozin ran as fast as his legs could take him, feeling the cold dread trickle through his veins and seize his heart. " _Aki!"_ he called out. For the first time in the longest time, he was scared.

He saw them gathered in the village center. They blocked his view, but Kozin knew what they were crowded around. Heads turned as they heard the witcher's pounding footsteps. They must have felt the wrath he carried within him. The villagers scattered, bleating out cries of fear as they retreated into the night. Two remained—a man and a woman who tugged on a rope, dragging their son by the neck towards the tree. They didn't run when the witcher raced right up to them, and hardly made any sounds as he shoved them away.

Kozin crouched down and flung the noose off. One glance over the Aki's broken and bleeding body told him the raw truth: the boy was dying. He'd been too late.

His body shook with rage, with pain, with guilt. He stood and faced the two demons that were still there. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Kozin thundered. "This was your son, _your own child!"_

"We'll get our boy back!" the man, the demon, replied defiantly. Determination flashed in his cold, crazed eyes. "Once we kill this little monster, our Aki will—."

His words were cut short as Kozin's fist collided with his jaw. The strip of metal over his knuckles shattered the bone like glass, and the force of his strike snapped the skull from the base of the neck. The corpse buckled to the ground.

The second demon shrieked. She tried to run. With a flash of cruel metal, she lay in a growing pool of blood.

His breathing was haggard, laborious. He held in his trembling hand the silver sword, which he had drawn without thinking. His burning eyes scanned the darkness. The beast within him, born from rage and agony, bellowed for more blood. It needed to rip and gnash, to claw out as much pain as it had endured.

Then he heard the soft, gasping whimpers behind him. Immediately, the beast vanished. The sword fell from his hand and landed, dull and heavy, on the ground. Kozin turned to the little figure. He fell onto his knees. Gently, he reached out and took little Aki in his arms. He pulled the boy to him and cradled him against his body.

Aki's hooded eyes slowly climbed up. When he looked up into Kozin's face, he smiled. Joy relit the child's fading eyes.

"You're… here…" He hardly had a voice left.

Kozin rested a hand delicately against his face. "That's right, Aki. I'm right here." He was fighting to keep his voice steady. "I've got you. It's okay, Aki. It's all over now. I'm right here… I'm with you." He continued to soothe Aki as the little boy gazed up at him. Kozin watched the light grow dimmer and dimmer. "I'm right here… I'm right here… I've got you…"

And then, he was gone.

"I'm right h-h…." Kozin's voice cracked. He fell forward and hugged the body tightly, gasping for air. His eyes burned. He had waited so that Aki wouldn't see the tears. They blinded him and felt warm like blood on his skin. _You needed me and I wasn't there. I couldn't save you. I'm… I'm sorry, Aki!_

The witcher threw his head back and screamed into the sky. It was a terrible, anguished howl. The sound of a soul shattering. Dying.

It only stopped when his throat couldn't take it anymore, his lungs deprived of air. Though his face was still wet, he had no tears left to shed. When he opened his eyes, the man that used to be behind them was gone. With Aki still in his arms, Kozin glared into the darkness around him.

" _YOU DID THIS!_ " he shouted into the empty air. He knew they'd hear him, wherever they were, wherever they hid. " _DAMN YOU ALL! A THOUSAND HELLS AWAIT YOU!_ " Kozin rested the little boy back down and stood. He stormed over to where his sword lay and seized it. He flew down the streets, looking for more monsters to cut down with the silver blade. There was not a soul in sight. The doors that had previously been gaping open were now all sealed shut. Cowards, fools, animals, all of them! A thousand hells awaited them all, and he would be the one to send them there.

Kozin Signed Igni and set the nearest house aflame. Again and again, he threw fire. Within seconds, a whole street of houses was engulfed in hungry, crackling columns of fire. He didn't stop there.

Doors and windows were thrown open and some lucky few managed to run. They escaped the raging flames only to be slain with the silver blade. Kozin left a trail of blood and bodies, marching to the next house to exact his raving vengeance. He had no idea how many homes he had destroyed, how many lives were swallowed in the walls of flames. He didn't care.

Then he stopped, eyes wide as though he were snapping out of a trance. _What are you doing?_ He slowly looked back at the wreckage he had caused. Everything behind him was alight, burning to the ground. A house collapsed, sending a swarm of red embers up into the dark sky. _What have you allowed yourself to become? What would he think of you if he saw you now?_

What does it matter? Aki was gone! Kozin would never get him back! And it was all because of… of… _him_. Gnashing his teeth, Kozin turned back and headed for the gate. By now, it had become nothing but a smoldering heap. The fire had gone on to trace the wall, surrounding the village in a ring of fire.

Kozin found his gray horse standing by itself. But Yorvik had not gone far. Kozin found him, still bound, trying to wriggle away. He gave up when he saw the witcher standing over him.

"You think yourself high and mighty, witchman?" Yorvik snapped at him. "You condemned me for trying to preserve my skin, but what have _you_ done? Murderer! No different from the monsters you claim to slay!" Kozin suddenly grabbed the chain and began dragging Yorvik along the ground. They headed into the woods. Deeper and deeper they went. Kozin didn't stop until they were in the heart of the woods. He threw Yorvik in front of him.

"They weren't people anymore!" Kozin growled. "The humanity was bled out of them, and you were the puncture. You, a foul, rotting wretch that managed to slink out of some vile abyss. And before you sank back into it, you reached out and brought them along. Everyone in that village, they've all been dragged down with you. But you know what?" Kozin grabbed the collar of Yorvik's shirt and yanked him up to his shining, inhuman eyes. _"So have I."_

He dropped Yorvik and smashed his boot down on the man's leg. Bone cracked, followed by a scream. Kozin reached down and broke the other leg with his hands. While Yorvik was still screeching in pain, Kozin wrenched the arrow from his shoulder. Immediately, the cloth around the wound began to grow red. The rusty scent of blood filled the witcher's nose. If he could smell it, then so would they.

Kozin left Yorvik there and made his way out of the woods. As he stepped out from the trees, he heard the invigorated howl of wolves.

* * *

He went back to the village one last time that night. He went back to take Aki out of that hellish place. A few remaining fires still burned in the village when he returned, but most had died down.

He saw them scattered on the ground by the broken gates. Gwent cards, strewn about. They had been untouched by the fire. It took him a while to gather them up, but they were all there. Not a single missing card. He tucked the deck back into his pouch and continued into the village. When he came to the center, he saw someone standing over the body, a sheet crumpled in their arms. Kozin stopped a short distance away and watched.

Catha didn't notice him. She knelt down next to the boy and reached out a hand to gently close his eyes. Then she took the sheet and draped it over him, completely covering his body. She stayed there for a moment before rising. It was then she noticed the observer. As their eyes locked, she froze with fear.

No longer did Kozin harbor ill will. He had grown tired. "Thank you," he said quietly. He walked slowly up to her and looked down at the covered body.

"I couldn't bear to leave him like that," Catha said quietly. "Just a child… How did it come to this?" Kozin lowered himself and wrapped the sheet around the body.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not leaving him here," Kozin answered as he stood, the tiny bundle in his arms. "And if you've any sense, you'd get out too."

"Where would I go?"

"Anywhere but here."

He left Catha and the village center. A thought came to him as he carried the bundle. Aki had never been outside the village. He had never seen the world. Kozin looked down at the sheet to where his face was. _I would've taken you with me_ , he told the boy, _and we could have experienced it all together._ He stopped when he reached the gates. _Here we are, Aki. Are you ready?_

Together, they stepped over the wooden debris.

Kozin whistled for his horse and rode away from the village. They traveled through the night, and by dawn had arrived at large fishing town that sat on the shore of one of Temeria's great rivers. There, he purchased a small boat. He ignored the confused looks of passerby's as they watched him tie the boat to his horse and drag it away from the shore. Kozin took the boat to a grassy field that stretched for miles on end. The air smelled of sweet dew and the tall grass rustled in the wind like comforting whispers.

He took the little bundle down from the horse's back and lowered it into the boat, which had been dug into the ground. He opened the sheet, letting the cool morning air touch Aki's pale skin. Kozin felt his throat grow tight as he looked down at the calm face. He unfastened a pouch on his belt.

Holding the gwent cards, Kozin said aloud, "I was supposed to teach you how to play. I'd have you build your own deck. For now, you can have mine." He gently placed the cards into the boy's hands. "Hold onto that deck for me, Aki." He wrapped the sheet back up. "Good boy."

* * *

The soldiers found him standing in a field, conducting a ship burial. They let the ritual finish, standing by as the witcher stared silently into the fire. When there was nothing left but a boat frame and ash, they pinned his wrists together with shackles and brought him before the alderman.

"Half the village burned to the ground! Countless dead!" the old man boomed furiously.

"It couldn't be helped," Kozin mumbled, his eyes lowered to the ground. "That village was lost."

"And you've brought no slain monster?"

"No."

" _No?"_

"I found monsters," Kozin answered. "But I couldn't stop them."

"Couldn't stop them? What kind of witcher are you if you couldn't save that boy?"

Kozin raised his head. "Wh-what?"

Impatiently, one of the soldiers spoke up. "Clean the cotton from your ears! His lordship said 'What kind of witcher are you if you couldn't kill the monster?'"

"I…" He looked down. "I don't know."

Kozin's unusual impassiveness fueled the alderman's audacity. "Get this worthless thing out of my sight!" He was led out of the room and away from the manor.

A soldier accompanied Kozin to the outskirts of the town. As he undid the shackles, the soldier said, "You're lucky the alderman didn't put your head on the block. It'd be best if you didn't show your face around these parts again."

 _You needn't worry,_ Kozin thought as he walked away, rubbing his wrists. _I'm never coming back._

* * *

He watched the last bit of smoke puff out in front of his face and slowly dissipate. The inn was starting to grow empty. The burnt residue tipped from pipe onto the table. His hand reached for the tobacco pouch, but paused. No, it was time to move on.

Kozin left the inn and looked around. The white-haired witcher was nowhere to be found. The lack of contracts had pushed him on. Well, it wasn't like Kozin was going to miss him.

A horse with a skewbald coat was waiting for him. From its haunches hung multiple saddlebags and a wyvern's head. Kozin approached the horse and started tightening the saddle straps. It was going to be a long ride.

Just as he finished, he heard a voice behind him. "Where are you going?" Kozin turned and saw a young boy standing with a stray dog. The boy's hair was black.

Kozin didn't say a word. He stared wordlessly at the boy, who watched him innocently. Maybe long ago, he would've reacted, felt something. Anything. Not anymore. He had learned that it was better not to care. So, so much better. He turned away, climbed onto the saddle, and tapped the horse with his heels. As it began moving, Kozin kept his eyes trained forward. He dared not look back.

He rode away, the shadow behind him stretching longer and longer as the day drew to a close. When the sun finally dipped in front of him, he became nothing but a silhouette.

 _End. Thank you for reading._


End file.
